I'm aware this isn't a conventional pairing.
That being said, it's one of my favorites, especially with the AU, timey-wimey stuff going on.

She's only been traveling with this him two weeks before he sticks them in the vortex for a few days, and waggles his eyebrows at her over a jam jar. It is strawberry jam, to be fair, and he's licking three of his fingers clean as he watches her butter her toast. His hair sticks up every which way, and his brown pinstriped suit is ridiculously rumpled. The Doctor studiously watches her face as he laps at his fingers, her frown ever-deepening.

"Wfffddd?" he asks, fingers still in his mouth. He gives them one last lick and then tries for coherency. "What?"

"Did it ever occur to you that I might want some of that?" She raises an eyebrow, and glances down at her sadly buttered toast. The Doctor flushes.

"Some of-" he flushes a deep crimson and then looks down at his jam jar. "Some of…OH! Some of that!" He pales a bit, but his ears are still tinged pink, and Amy can't help but laugh. Her flaming hair bounces around her, shining in the kitchen fluorescents. She pushes her red plaid sleeves up around her elbows and leans her elbows on the table.

"You are such a Time Lord," she says, low, but with more than a hint of laughter in her voice. The Doctor is (half-) mock offended, and puts his sticky hands on the table.

"Oi! How would you know?" He tries not to turn red again, but fails. Anymore, and he'll match her hair, Amy thinks, with a smirk.

"Know you, remember? Know you, and…you." She gestures around, as if she could charade regeneration and present to past selves with her hands.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, you and your precious spoilers. Which means River knows you, and really, I'd love to know all about that. Met her once, in a library. It was all very confusing and all that and-" he stops and glares at her. "Nothing. You can't know about that. Spoilers." He throws the last word back at her, half-joke and half-disdain. The Doctor swings his feet up on the table, trainers almost in Amy's face, and she sits back in her chair. He returns his fingers to the jam jar, and then holds it out to her, nodding half to her toast. She laughs.

"No," she says sternly, eyes shining. She's only been here for a few days and already he has her a bit captivated by his (sometimes) smug charisma and his (usually) awkward charm. He makes her mad with his schemes, and even madder by the way he always seems to get her out of them just in the nick of time. He's promised her a break, and it starts with breakfast in the galley, and—apparently—with jam covered fingers. She sits back, arms crossed and watches him eat jam off his fingers, casually taking a few bites of her toast, and sipping tea. After a few minutes, he glances up and looks at her face. His fingers freeze and he looks at her expectantly.

"Spa planet?" she asks.

"We need to stay in the vortex, the TARDIS needs a break as well. Gets tiring you know, being battered by angry villagers with pitch forks." He leans over to the nearest strut and runs a hand down it lovingly. "Oh my poor girl, you need a bit of a rest, don't you?"

"At least take me to the pool, then." He opens his mouth, but she continues, "No, Doctor, I know you have a pool. And we're going swimming. Come on!" She stands up and puts her hands on her hips, nodding at him to get up. He glares at her, but returns the lid to the jam jar. His eyes narrow further as he swings his feet onto the ground and stands up.

"Red hair will be the death of me," he mutters, following her out of the kitchen. "You should be able to find a suit in the wardrobe. Then the pool's down the hallway, second right, first left, up the staircase, on your left. Big green doors."

"Meet you there," Amy says sternly, pointing a finger at him before disappearing down the hallway. He groans and calls after her.

"Oh, do I have to? I was goi-"

"Yes!" She calls over her shoulder barely turning her head. "Don't worry, I'll save you if you drown!" For this remark, she doesn't even turn her head. The Doctor watches her disappear down the hall, and mutters to himself.

"Time Lords can't drown." He turns away in a huff, headed to his room to dig swim trunks out of his things. Does he even own swim trunks? The TARDIS hums apologetically at him as he reaches his door, and he smiles a bit. "Oh, it's not your fault. She's ginger." He says the last as if it explains everything.

Still, his mild disdain turns into a chuckle as he enters his room. He pretends to be put-off by Amy and her demands, when in reality he likes nothing better than to be someone else's company, likes when his friends have expectations of him. He can only be the driving impetus for so long, it's nice to have someone else take the reins. Even if she does make him go swimming.

So he strips down to his skinny hairy legs and lean torso, and rustles around in a drawer for a pair of swimming trunks. He finds them, pinstripe-brown, in the bottom of the bottom drawer, folded up and never-used. He quickly dons them, and looks at himself in the full-length mirror. He nods appreciatively, and tries to ignore the discomfort of being so unclothed. So he throws a deep blue fluffy robe on, and pads out into the hallway barefoot. As he reaches those green doors, he steps into a paradise he hasn't seen in ages. It has all the appearances of being an outdoor pool on Earth. The 'sun' shines, and invisible birds chirp. It's hard for him to keep a smile off his face as he steps across the grass onto the concrete pool deck. Amy sits on the edge, staring up at him, eyes squinting.

"Get lost?" she asks innocently, with a hint of fire. Her hair is already wet, and she's obviously already been in. He scoffs, and his breath hitches in his throat at his gaze makes its way down her body. He mentally thanks the TARDIS for what must be the recent addition of bikinis to the wardrobe. She's wearing a dark purple number, which contrasts with her hair rather nicely, and the Doctor finds himself gaping after a moment. Amy's noticed, but her gaze hasn't dropped one millimeter. That is, until the Doctor stops drooling and tosses his robe on the pool deck, safely away from the water. He's looking away while her eyes roam over his body, where he's lean, but not quite as stick-ish and skinny as she's imagined under all those layers. Um, not that she has imagined. (Though she most certainly has.)

He clears his throat and raises an eyebrow at her. "Lost? It's my ship, how would I get lost?" he teases leaning down towards her. Amy rolls her eyes, and quickly grabs his hand. With a swift yank, she's off the ledge, and he's flying in the water unceremoniously behind her. His lanky body makes a surprisingly large splash, and Amy giggles as he comes up for air. He gives her a wicked grin, dunks back under, and she only has a second to process before he pulls her under the warm water with him. He dives at her waist, strong fingers brushing lightly around sensitive points, sending Amy into fits of squirming and laughter. She pushes off the bottom and narrowly avoids his grasp. They both come up to the surface, her breathing heavy, and him still grinning like the Cheshire Cat. He's totally taken the upper-hand back, and she's still squirming as he backs her into the corner of the pool.

She looks around for an escape, and then licks her lip before smirking. Her hand come out of the water, the backs of her hands sending water into his face. He shakes his head and moves back, trying to avoid the wanton droplets.

"Ah! Pond!" He laughs, good-naturedly. When the water settles, he's still left with a smile. Amy is giggling, cheeks flushed. She puts her palms on the deck and hoists herself up to sit on the edge. She takes a slow, deep breath, closing her eyes. The Doctor's eyes follow droplets trickling from her hair. They slide down her shoulder, barely beading over the purple cord of her suit, and then quickly slide down her side. His breath hitches in his throat, and he leans on the deck to the side of her. He rests his chin on folded arms, and grins up at her. She giggles and absentmindedly tousles his hair.

There's warm water, and her hands are in his hair, and he's feeling just the slightest bit (okay, more like a lot) giddy. So he shifts his arms and draws circles on the side of her knee with lingering drops of water. Her hand stills in his hair and he looks up. She looks startled, but in a pleasant way, and her hand slides down to cup his cheek. His eyes flutter shut.

This time it's the Doctor who has to take a calming breath before opening his eyes. He can practically feel the heat radiating off his cheeks, blood coursing through his veins in adrenaline, and not altogether unpleasantly. He lifts his head, and she hand follows, pulling him up to her. He's in front of her now, as her other hand comes up to his face as well.

He'd be looking into her eyes, but he's not sure if he can breathe, not sure if what they're doing will create a massive paradox. He's asked her almost nothing, knowing what it could lead to. Therefore he knows…well, nothing. But at some point he damns it all. She leans in, and he can feel her hot breath on his cheek for a second before his lips are on hers, and she's leaning forward into him. He rises up on his toes, water hitting him somewhere in between his chest and his waist. While one of her hands slides up into his hair again, his hands find her waist to finger the sides of her purple suit.

He pulls her towards him, slow pressure, until she wraps her legs around his torso, and he can edge her into the water. He can still taste toast on her lips as his tongue flicks at her bottom lip. Her lips part just the tiniest bit, and he slips in. But whatever he's gained, she takes back when she pushes her tongue into his mouth. It's like drowning, and suddenly he can't remember a damn thing. She tastes like heat, sunlight, and a bit like redemption. In her lips, which now softly suck at his bottom lip, he finds he can forget those he's lost and loved. He instead finds promises of things to come, and it's like tasting a new life.

Her tongue runs along the ridge of his teeth and she slides her hands down to his neck, over his shoulders, to rest delicately on his arms. He moves from her mouth to trail wet kisses on her jaw.

"Have we ever done this before?" he murmurs into the crook of her throat. She can feel his lips curve into a smile, and after a small gasp, she smiles as well.

"No, not quite," Amy says in a breathy voice. She uncurls her legs from around him, and he gently sets her down. Their eyes close and she brings his head down to rest against hers. She kisses him, long and slow and unhurriedly, and then pulls him by the hand to the edge of the pool. She lifts herself out and he follows her. They sit on the edge, just close enough for their knees to touch when he swings out of the water. She playfully bumps his shoulder with hers, and the Doctor gives her another tentative grin. As soon as her hand reaches for his head, his lips are on hers again, hungrily, arms moving to her waist and the small of her back. He eases her down and their feet are out of the water now, somehow, limbs tangled on the deck. He props himself up on his forearms and hands, supporting himself as he eases into the kiss a bit more slowly, savoring the way she comes up to meet him when he pulls back. They finally part and he looks down at her with a smile, her red hair dark and wet, splayed out on the deck. He sits back and then kneels, holding out a hand to her. She takes it, of course, and he helps her up.

The air around them is chillier than the lukewarm pool water. Coming off her high, Amy shivers at the change in temperature. The Doctor notices and pauses to swipe his robe off the ground. He delicately drapes it around her shoulders and places a kiss in the hollow behind her ear. She shivers and he laughs. He drags his hands down her arms in attempt to warm her up, and then takes her hand. She smiles at him, and opens her mouth to speak (an apology? A declaration of love? She wonders what's appropriate for the occasion,) but he shakes his head. He winks at her, and tugs her along.

"Come on, let's get you warmed up." His voice is low, but warm like honey, and it shines with the laughter she knows is scarce in any incarnation of this man. So she follows him, like she's always done. In his hand, she can feel his impatience, the flightiness which lives in his skin. It dances along the dainty skin of her wrist, tingling all the way up to her arm. It sends a whole new shot of adrenaline throughout her bloodstream, and soon she's the one tugging on his hand.

And so they run.